


Empty

by impalaloompa



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I cried writing this, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, This is really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May stood quietly next to him, black dress flapping about her ankles in the gentle breeze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his warmth, trying to draw comfort from his presence. Wade was too tired to cry. Too emotionally drained. Too numb. Too empty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to TuGfa who just seems to want to inflict pain and suffering upon the world.

The previous thrill and excitement from the battle had gone. It had been replaced by a very real fear that was churning his gut. The idiot goons had set off charges somewhere in the building and now the office block was crumbling around them.

He was pretty sure that the other Avengers had gotten out. It was just him and Spider-Man, watching the two office workers they had pulled from the rubble stumble away to safety.

"Peter?" Deadpool's anxious voice rose over the grating of stone on metal, "I think that's the last of them. We should get outta here."

He desperately wanted Peter to agree. The danger that they were both in didn't concern Wade so much as Peter's safety did. Wade couldn't die. He would survive the crumbling building. Peter would not.

He reached out and tucked his fingers into Spider-Man's. He saw Peter shift slightly before those large white-lensed eyes caught his gaze.

"Okay," Peter gave a slight nod and relief coursed through Wade. 

He tightened his grip on Peter's hand and dragged his boyfriend to follow the civilians out of the building. He could almost see the walls quaking with the effort to remain standing.

He quickened his step until they were both running flat out, foot falls in time with every pounding of his heart. 

Peter pulled him to the right as a shower of bricks rained down. Wade silently thanked Peter's Spidey-sense as they hurried on. 

Wade could see it. The gap in the cracked wall ahead, daylight spilling into the grey gloom. Their escape. Their way out to safety.

Suddenly, Peter's hand slid from his and he was grabbing at air as he stumbled to a halt.

"Peter," he hissed, "What the fuck are you doing?" 

Peter shushed him and pressed himself flat against the wall.

"There are people behind there!" he growled.

"Baby Boy, please," Wade wailed, "we can't do anything for them from this side of the wall."

"We have to try," Peter insisted, stepping back to examine the wall for any way through.

There was an alarming crack somewhere above them and the shifting roof showered them in dust.

"It's not gonna hold," Wade shouted at him. Sometimes he hated how head strong and stubborn Peter could be. His life was in very real danger and the stupid hero was too busy trying to be...well, a hero.

Wade tugged at his arm sharply, forcing Peter to move with him.

"Dammit Wade those people need our help," Peter spat.

"We can't help hem from here," Wade roared as he felt a tremble pass through the building.

"Peter please," he begged, voice breaking as fear for the man he loved twisted his heart.

Something in Peter seemed to break and he let Wade tear him from the wall.

"We'll come back for them, Peter. We will, I promise," Wade grazed his thumb lightly over Peter's masked cheek.

He was about to head to the exit again when Peter twitched violently. Spider-sense, Wade thought.

Just then the ceiling above them shuddered and with an almighty groan, it split.

"WADE," Peter screeched.

Wade felt two strong hands on his torso, throwing him back with enormous strength. He fell hard, hitting his head against the wall, and as he struggled to sit up, vision swimming, he watched in horror as Peter disappeared under a mound of falling rubble.

The noise of the concrete was deafening and the throbbing in Wade's skull sent black spots over his vision. He swayed and toppled to the ground.

"Peter," he sobbed as darkness took him.  
***  
"Deadpool. Deadpool! Wake up!" someone was shaking him. He could feel the jolts pass through his body. He didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to think. 

Another strong shake forced him to grumble and he opened his eyes to glare up at Hawkeye whose lack of expression tunnelled his vision.

He could hear the grinding of stone being moved and he sat bolt upright, Clint dodging just in time before Wade's head collided with his.

The image of Peter crumpling under stone and steel replayed again and again in his head as he struggled to his feet, Barton's awkward hand on his shoulder not helping. 

He broke free of Hawkeye only to be blocked by Captain America. 

"Wade," Steve's voice wavered and Wade couldn't bring himself to look at the soldier's face. He knew what he'd see there. He stared at his muscled shoulder instead, trying to ignore the cold dread pitting his stomach. He was dimly aware of the other Avengers standing around him, watching him with sad, somber expressions.

"Wade," Steve's hand found his arm, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No," Wade groaned as he tried to jerk away from the Avenger, "No."

Cap didn't seem to have the strength to hold him fast and Wade pulled away from him. He peered around his bulk.

He could see a red spandex'd arm and he surged forwards, Steve's fingers skimming his shoulder as the soldier let him go. 

Amongst the rubble and dust, Wade sank to his knees by Spider-Man's body. Peter's body. A wail rose in his chest and he placed a firm hand on Peter's sternum. He gave Peter a shake.

"Peter?" he choked, "Baby Boy? Wake up. Please."

Tears leaked from his eyes, soaking into his mask as Peter's head lolled from side to side.

"Please. You can't. You can't leave me like this," he brought his hand up to cup Peter's cheek and brushed lightly at the dust covering his mask. 

"Peter!" he shouted, shaking him again, hating the way his limp body reacted to his touch. Pain twisted his heart, his chest constricted. 

"No," he sobbed, head falling against Peter's still chest, "why? Why did you have to save me? It should have been me. You should have let it be me and you would be here and okay and-" his voice broke, "and with me."

He wept uncontrollably into his hands, forehead still pressed firmly against Peter. Shudders wracked his body with each rasped breath. Fear and anger and despair panged through him and he had never felt more lost or alone. His heart hurt. Physically hurt. And he willed his healing factor to kick in, to deal with the pain. But it didn't. Each beat of his rapid heart sent waves of nausea rolling through him and he fisted his shaking hands into Peter's spandex.

"Wade," a husked voice sounded above him and he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"This isn't happening," Wade mumbled into his fists, "Not happening."

"Wade," the voice was more urgent now, mixed with grief and concern.

"No!" Wade shrieked, throwing himself back and scrambling to his feet. He knocked against the owner of the voice, barely registering that fact that it was Barton, then backed away, shaking his head.

"Not happening, not happening," he garbled, tripping over bricks in his hasty retreat. 

Before anyone could stop him, he turned and fled, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Away from the Avengers, away from the pile of rubble, away from Peter.

"Wade!" Stark's shout followed him.

"This isn't happening," Wade wailed.  
***  
He jogged up the stairs to the apartment, taking the steps two at a time. His whole body was trembling and the pounding in his head pulsed in the back of his eyes.

He marched down the hall and fumbled with the lock on the apartment door, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat.

The lock clicked and Wade stowed away his key before thumbing the door handle. He took a breath then pushed the door open.

"Hey Wade," a soft, cheery voice greeted him.

"Peter," Wade whimpered as he hurried into the apartment.

There he was. Sat snuggly on the couch, book open on his lap, brown hair ruffled, hazel eyes sparking. His smile was warm and his rosy skin seemed to glow. He was wearing the grey t-shirt and white boxers he often wore to bed.

Wade broke into a smile, warmth and relief filling his chest. He removed his weapons and pouches, rolled up his mask, tossed it on to the kitchen counter and joined Peter on the couch. He wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into the crook of Peter's neck.

Peter's surprise quickly changed to a chuckle which vibrated through him, and he had never felt so good or more alive. He squeezed Peter tightly, trying to remember why his chest had been aching just a moment before.

"Sweetie?" Peter pushed at him gently, forcing him to gaze up into those large doey eyes, "is everything okay?"

"Yes," Wade nodded desperately, "everything is great. It's more than great. It's perfect."

He let his eyes flutter shut as Peter ran warm fingertips over the scars lacing his cheek. He felt the soft touches and the tickle of Peter's sweet breath and he nuzzled into Peter's warmth. 

Smooth, supple lips pressed against the top of his head and strong arms curled around him, making him feel safe and loved and home. 

A sudden wave of exhaustion had Wade yawning and he allowed himself to listen to the steady thump thump of Peter's heart as sleep dragged at him.

"Everything perfect," he mumbled, "it's all how it should be."  
***  
Wade woke with a start. 

The apartment was dark and cold, and he was alone.

"Peter?" he rubbed at his sleepy eyes, willing them to adjust quickly to the darkness.

"Peter?" he called again, "where are you?"

He stood up, working the sleep out of his limbs in a delicious stretch. He cast a quick glance around the room and kitchen then wandered through to the bedroom.

Peter must have gone to bed, not wanting to wake me up, he thought to himself with a warm smile.

When he realised that the bedroom was empty too, he moved through to the bathroom. Empty. No Peter.

Confusion caused him to frown. Where could he be? Why wasn't he home? 

As his muzzy brain cleared, a chill passed through his body sending sharp waves of pain through his chest. He suddenly couldn't breath, limbs shaking, tears streaming down his face.

"No," he cried.

He turned and threw himself back into the lounge.

"Peter!" he shouted, looking around wildly. He made it to the kitchen before his knees gave way and he crashed to the floor with a thump. 

That sudden realisation that Peter was gone. That he would never come home. That Wade would never hear his voice again, never feel his touch, hear his laugh, watch the way he flicked through the pages of a book, curl up in his warmth, admire how he shrugged on a shirt, taste his kiss. 

Wade cried, huge sobs wracking his body as he curled up on the linoleum floor, cradling his knees to his chest, pressing his face to the cold ground.

"Peter," he wept, struggling to catch his breath.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, crying until he could cry no more. Eyes sore and blood shot, voice hoarse, lungs burning, the ache in his chest finally giving way to numbness.

He became aware of the warm sun creeping through the window, illuminating the apartment in a yellow hue. 

He sat up, eyes unfocused and pressed his back to one of the kitchen units.

He just wanted to stay there. Never move again. But he had to. He had to force himself to get up and get going because there was something, something impossible, that he now had to do.  
***  
Wade pulled his hood closer to his face as he approached the neat wooden door and rang the door bell.

It tinkled out merrily and his stomach began doing flips.

He heard shuffling coming from somewhere inside the quaint little house and he almost turned to run away. Almost. 

But this was something he had to do.

He fiddled with the hem of his hoodie as there was noise just behind the door and he forced himself to look up when the door swung open to reveal May Parker.

"Wade," she beamed at him, "what a nice surprise."

"Miss May," he tried, voice catching in his throat.

"Come in dear, come in. I've just put the kettle on," she ushered him inside and then bustled through to the kitchen. 

Wade was left to show himself into the lounge but he couldn't take another step.

He fought to control his trembling hands as his thoughts turned to the many pictures May had of Peter decorating her mantle and shelves.

A young, grinning Peter with floppy hair and askew glasses. A high school graduate Peter in a bottle green robe and cap holding a scroll and sporting a proud smile. A Peter with arm wrapped around his Aunt's shoulder and a hand on his Uncle's. A goofy Peter, a happy Peter. Peter with friends, Peter with family, even one of Peter with Wade. 

Wade had to choke back a sob as he leaned back against the door. No. There was no way he could keep himself together if he forced himself into that room.

Instead, he slowly found his way to the kitchen. He watched May pour two cups of tea, milk and a sugar in hers, just milk in his, the way she knew he liked it.

He cleared his throat and May turned to smile at him, but the smile faltered on her lips as she caught his expression.

His pulse raced as her eyebrows twitched into a concerned frown. He couldn't do this. He couldn't break this sweet ladies heart. He couldn't tell her that her nephew had died. He couldn't bear her pain and grief. But he had to.

"Wade?" she questioned, "Wade, dear, is everything alright?"

"No. Miss May. It's... There's something... Something I have to tell you... About Peter," his voice broke and his dark brown eyes shimmered with tears.

"He's... He's..." 

"No," May gasped, "what are you talking about? What are you saying?" she backed away from him, disbelief masking her face.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," Wade took a step towards her, "he's gone. He's-he died."

"No, stop it. This isn't funny. You're lying! Why are you lying?" May was trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," Wade sobbed.

He reached out and caught Peter's Aunt before her legs gave way and he pulled her to his chest. She fought him weakly but quickly gave in and shuddered against him. He tucked his arms around her, resting his chin on top of their head.

"How...how...," she spluttered between sobs.

"The office building that collapsed yesterday," Wade couldn't lie to her, not about this, "he was inside, trying to help people who were trapped... When the roof caved in..." 

The scene played behind his eyes, the terror and horror crushing his chest as he watched his boyfriend being buried alive and not being able to do anything to save him.

Be brave, he told himself, be brave for her. But he couldn't help the tears sliding down his face and splashing into May's soft, greying hair.

The hollow feeling in his chest swallowed him whole at that moment and he tightened his arms around May. 

He just wanted the pain to stop. He'd had enough and he just wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop?  
***  
Over the next few days, New York had created a mural dedicated to Spider-Man in Central Park. Hundreds of people had paid it a visit, showing their respect and gratitude for the hero who had protected them for so long. There were homages to the web slinger everywhere. Not even the Daily Bugle had anything negative to say. The entire city was in mourning. And Wade hated it.

He hated the fact that none of those people out there who talked about Spider-Man, saying what a great inspiration he had been, what a nice guy, what a genuine hero, none of those people had known him. To Wade, they didn't have the right to feel sad. They didn't have the right to mourn or even celebrate Spider-Man's life. 

This city had hunted him, ridiculed him, taunted him. They had tore him down, humiliated him, and here they were preaching and taking the hero's death as personally as they could. They didn't deserve a hero like Peter. But Peter had saved all of their miserable lives time and time again without looking for a reward or even a thank you. 

It was these bitter thoughts that plagued his mind as he watched the coffin being lowered into the grave. 

His tie felt too tight around his neck, collar of his white shirt digging into his skin. He wanted out of this stupid black suit and he wanted to sleep, but he had a whole afternoon of talking to people he didn't know, sharing condolences with people he didn't care about, not being able to grieve in piece.

May stood quietly next to him, black dress flapping about her ankles in the gentle breeze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his warmth, trying to draw comfort from his presence. Wade was too tired to cry. Too emotionally drained. Too numb. Too empty.

May choked back another sob then pulled away from him, joining the slow line of people filtering out of the grave yard.

Wade watched her for a moment then bent down and scooped up a fist full of crumbly earth from the pile by the grave.

"Peter," he lifted his eyes to the sky, voice wavering slightly, "I promise I'll look after her. I won't leave her alone. Your Aunt still has family with me."

He held his handful of earth over the coffin, watching the way his whole arm trembled, then sprinkled the earth over the coffin. It landed with soft thuds on the shiny wood and he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and just breath. 

"I miss you," he whispered, chest constricting, nails digging into his palms, "I love you."  
***  
Three days had passed since the wake after the funeral, and Wade was slouched on the couch in their...his apartment, thumbing a seventh bottle of beer, wishing his healing factor would let him get drunk. 

He had checked in with May a few hours ago, and was now trying to drown his sorrows in beer and Cheetos. It wasn't working. 

He had tried sleeping but every time he closed his eyes, he could see Peter dying again and again. 

He had even tried patrolling but his heart wasn't in it anymore. He couldn't focus properly. He felt clumsy and uncoordinated and it frustrated him. 

So he had resigned himself to trying to drink himself to death instead. He couldn't get drunk but he hoped that if he drank enough beer, he could still give himself liver poisoning and that was a cleaner way to die that blowing his brains out. Of course he would just come back, and then the could start all over again.

He grumbled into the neck of the bottle as he flicked through the channels when there came a knock at the door.

He frowned. 

The knock came again and Wade forced himself to abandon his beer and answer the door. To his surprise, he was met with Hawkeye.

"Fuck off," Wade spat, though he didn't try to close the door on the archer. Instead he stood back slightly and allowed the man to enter.

Barton sidled inside and Wade closed the door deftly behind him.

"What do you want?" Wade growled at him.

"I'm worried about you," Clint turned on him, "We all are."

"Sure," Wade gruffed, heading back to the couch and throwing himself back into it.

"You look awful," Barton stated after a pause.

"Point being?" Wade rested his head back against the couch.

"Look, Wade. I know you're hurting, but staying cooped up in here isn't helping," Clint perched himself on the edge of the coffee table so that he was eye level with Wade.

Wade just stared at him, uncomfortable with the fact that he was very exposed in just his t-shirt and sweat pants. 

Barton didn't seem bothered and he continued to give Wade that deep, knowing look.

"Losing Peter was hard on all of us," the archer sighed, "we want to help you Wade. We can help you. If you'll let us."

Wade didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He had never been part of the Avengers team. Not really. Peter had always been the one to include him in missions. He didn't want to finally get a place on the team because the heroes felt sorry for him. He wanted a place on the team because he had earned it.

His silence caused Barton to narrow his eyes.

"You know, you shouldn't blame yourself for Peter's death. It wasn't-"

"I don't blame myself for Peter's death," Wade said shrilly, "I blame Peter for Peter's death. If he wasn't so busy being the hero, if he had just listened to me, he'd be here, right now, instead of you. And I hate him for it."

"No. You don't," a soft smile played at the corner of Clint's mouth.

"No," Wade sighed, "I don't. I want to. But I don't. I love him for it. I love how he always put others before himself. It's something I've always struggled to do. Peter brought the good out in me. You know?"

"We all saw it," Barton nodded, "Peter was always the real hero. He was always the one who believed that you were a good man. And he sure showed us that he was right."

Wade felt a shimmer of warmth tingle through his limbs. 

"You are a good man Wade. We can all see it. We want to help you. There will always be a place for you with us."

"Thanks Hawkeye," Wade allowed himself a smile. Just a small, weak smile but the tightness of his chest seemed to relax a little and the ache in his heart seemed to ease, just slightly.

"And besides," Clint stood up with a lazy grin, "I don't think Peter would appreciate you lounging about on your ass all day."

"Fuck you," Wade threw an empty Cheetos packed at him.

"What do you say Wade? You still up for protecting this city?" Barton became sincere again.

"For Peter," Wade nodded.

"For Peter," Clint agreed.  
***  
It felt strange, patrolling the city with the Avengers and not with Peter. 

The hole Peter had left would never properly heal, but he knew that with time, he would be able to bear it. Just like he did with all his other pain.

It felt good to be back on the streets, helping the civilians, stopping the bad guys. It was what he was good at and now he was carrying the justice out for two.

All of his work now was done in Spider-Man's memory, in Peter's memory. And he just hoped that, no matter how hard it might be sometimes to just keep going, he could make his lover, his hero, as proud of him as he is of Peter.


End file.
